


The Fic Where Clint Pisses In Brock's Metaphorical Pool

by Bulmaveg_Otaku



Series: Smutty Sunday Tumblr Prompts [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Breathplay, Casual Sex, Dom/sub, M/M, NSFW, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 14:26:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6662437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bulmaveg_Otaku/pseuds/Bulmaveg_Otaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>acidarrowguy asked: 7 with Clintasha or HawkBones, or 15 with IronHawk or HawkBones. <3!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fic Where Clint Pisses In Brock's Metaphorical Pool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AcidArrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcidArrow/gifts).



> This is #15 HawkBones. My first time writing mslash! Woo Hoo!

 

“What the fuck, Barton! I was in position to make the drop. Why’d you pull me?” Rumlow growled, stalking past Clint to look over the surveillance equipment stacked on the hotel desk.

“The mark’s security detail made you, Rumlow. I don’t know how, but they were ten seconds from escorting you out via the alleyway and an ass-kicking. I had to pull you out before you blew the entire op. It’s in Team Charlie’s hands now,” he said, adjusting his handgun in his shoulder holster and trying to smooth his jacket down to make sure it wasn’t visible.

“I could have taken that fuck head’s so called security team,” Brock sneered ruefully.

Clint grunted. “Yeah, sure, but that’s not the job, now is it? You think you can try planting a tracking bug during a fight? You’re more full of shit than I ever-” Clint’s words cut off as he was yanked back onto the bed by his shirt collar.

“You wanna say that to my face, Hawkass?” Rumlow asked, pinning Clint to the bed with his muscular thighs, one of his hands gripping the archer’s tie against the cheap, generic bedspread. Every time he tried to sit up and push the jerk off of him he felt his air get pinched off.

He tried to relax into the mattress. Rumlow was one of those dicks who needed to bark louder than all the other dogs. Fighting him would only play into his power trip.

That’s what Clint told himself, anyway.

“Get off me, Agent Rumlow,” he said through gritted teeth.

“But I think you have something you wanted to say to me, sir,” he insisted, eyes hard and jaw clenched as he gripped Clint’s right wrist with one hand and pressed his other forearm to Clint’s other arm so Brock could keep his grip on the tie.

Clint rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you’re so full of shit. You’re unbelie-urgck!” Agent Barton choked off as his tie pulled tighter around his neck once more. “F-fuck you!” He hissed, preparing to start bucking, wondering if Rumlow might actually have lost it this time. He was always a bit of a malcontent, but he was usually better at following orders…

“If you say so, sir,” the dark haired man said as a wicked smile curled one side of his lips up.

Clint just had time to widen his eyes at that smile before those lips were on his, hard and demanding. He made the mistake of gasping in surprise and Brock slipped his tongue between Clint’s lips and licked into his mouth with urgent insistence.

Barton grunted, but remained passive under the onslaught. As the ranking agent on this op it had been his duty to call the shots. Pulling Agent Rumlow out had been the right choice, but it had still stung the man’s pride in spite of that fact, maybe more so because of it.

Clint knew this wasn’t about lust or sex for the other man, not really.

This was all about domination, pure and simple.

He’d pissed in Rumlow’s pool, and now he was going to be shown how much of a Top Dog Brock was; he needed to learn who was really in control here, chain of command be damned.

Clint couldn’t care one way or the other about stepping on the man’s toes.

It had been a while since he’d gotten laid, though, and Brock was doing this thing with his tongue that was really awesome…

The second Clint started kissing the other agent back, Rumlow jerked his mouth away, teeth catching on his bottom lip for an instant before nipping off with a brush of stubble and a pinch that sent jolts down of pleasure the blond’s spine.

“You said Team Charlie was covering the op, right?” Rumlow asked, pupil blown and his erection evident against Clint’s stomach.

“Yeah,” Clint relived, his head spinning from the hormonal roller coaster ride Brock was sending him down. When a moment passed with the two of them breathing hard and lips swollen as they stared each other down, Clint decided he’d had enough waiting. “Well? Are we gonna do this or are you gonna get off me now? Shit or get off the pot, Brock.”

The man grunted with surprised humor. “Charming, Barton. Is that how you get all your dates into bed?” He inquired with a smug smirk.

Clint was starting to feel a serious need to punch someone, preferably the cock tease straddling him right at that moment. “You’re insufferable, you kn-” Clint growled, but found his air cut off again before he could finish his question.

“No talking,” Rumlow ordered, but his left hand, the one not keeping Clint’s tie tight against the bed reached down and started working dexterously at the buttons of his shirt. He grew impatient, though and popped the last two off as he ripped the shirt tails from Clint’s pants and exposed his chest and abs.

Once Brock was distracted with trying to undo both their pants one handed the former circus performer bucked his hips and rolled and, despite the momentary burn of cloth around his neck, and got Brock over on his back.

With their positions reversed, Barton briefly considered laying into the man with his fists in the less fun way, but decided against it, since he was already more than halfway to being hard and punching the guy would probably severely decrease his chances of getting off in the next 20 minutes. Probably.

“Get your pants off,” Clint ordered gruffly as he climbed off the bed and started stripping off his own clothes.

He grabbed the lube and condoms he kept in his bag after his jacket, holster, shirt, pants and shoes were gone. Cling left his socks on because the room was a bit chilly and he hated cold feet, (ha ha, Barton, pun intended), and he left the tie on as well. For reasons.

Brock’s own blend-in-with-the-party-guests garb was shed when Clint returned to the bed. He tossed a condom to Rumlow and squeezed some lube onto his fingers so that he could start opening himself up. The man’s dark eyes were sharp, locking onto the bright purple tie dangling from Clint’s otherwise bare neck as the blond climbed onto his lap.

The archer gave his cock a couple of firm strokes as he continued working two, then three fingers into his ass. He wasn’t gentle or patient, but he was probably still nicer than Brock would have been, given the man’s sadistic tendencies.

The junior agent worked silently on rolling the condom on, his eyes never leaving Clint, then he laid back and locked his hands behind his head.

“Selfish ass,” Clint muttered unhappily as he slicked up Brock’s cock and then held it in place while he got in position and lowered himself onto it. “Fuck…” He breathed hard, nostrils flaring as he felt the considerable girth and decent length press up into him.

It burned some, but Clint could take it. Hell, he kind of liked it.

“I thought I said no talking,” Brock sneered and then his hands were grasping the thin purple strip of silk hanging between them and pulling it just that perfect amount tighter.

Barton shivered around the man’s dick, his eyes fluttering shut as the tightness around his neck reached down into his lungs and chest. Brock eased up then and Clint inhaled hard and sharp and then started to ride Agent Rumlow.

Anytime he wanted to feel that pressure again all he had to do was start talking.

Clint had always been very good at running his mouth.

Besides, if Brock needed to feel like he was the one with all the power, the one in control, Clint was more than happy to let him think that.

For now.


End file.
